


I Remember California

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hunters, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, First Time, Impala Feels, M/M, Riding, Topping from the Bottom, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 18:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2821685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere between Malibu and Pacific Palisades, the Impala broke down on the worst possible stretch of road imaginable – and in the middle of the rush of summer traffic, no less.</p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small">Written for the prompt, "during one of their cases, Dean meets college student Castiel, and they hit it off."</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	I Remember California

Somewhere between Malibu and Pacific Palisades, the Impala broke down on the worst possible stretch of road imaginable – and in the middle of the rush of summer traffic, no less. By some miracle, Dean managed to worm the vehicle off onto the side of road outside the local RV park with the engine still smoking and a terrible rattling under the hood. Possibly from overheating, or the fact they had been driving down from Seattle overnight. Poor Baby couldn't handle it, he told Sam, standing at the front bumper, looking mournfully at the hissing engine block, praying to whomever was listening that the transmission hadn’t blown.

“Maybe we should call a tow truck,” Sam commented from the passenger seat, the thud of his booted feet propping up on the dash startling him from under the hood twenty minutes later, skull cracking on the aged metal. _That_ would be a bruise, he was sure.

“We’re not callin’ a wrecker, Sammy,” Dean barked, slamming the hood closed and rubbing the growing bump at the back of his head. “We’re gonna let her cool down and get back on the road. We’re here anyway, right?” Sliding in through the open drivers side door, he sulked in his seat, arms folded across his chest. “’Sides, it’s not like the vamps are goin’ anywhere, anyway.”

They really weren’t, from what Sam’s research stated – five kills in the hills above Malibu centering around the De Bell Ranch on Puerco Canyon Road. All bodies had been drained of blood and left for the coyotes within a week’s time, leaving the media to speculate just what was going on in the public land above the Colony. Some were saying they were part of a cult, others assuming a serial killer was in their midst. All were students at nearby Pepperdine University, some conservative Christians, all wealthy beyond their means. So _why_ were they dead in the first place?

They had their own theory – vampires, a whole nest of them, or at least the beginnings of one. It wasn't like they hadn’t seen it happen before, but happening so close to civilization was a new one. Their visit to the morgue in downtown Los Angeles confirmed their suspicions, corpses marred by bitten flesh and blue-tinged skin. Even the coroner didn't know what to make of it, and he had worked there for _thirty-seven years_ , or so he claimed. Based on the alcohol stink of his breath, they weren’t exactly inclined to believe him.

“You should’ve taken it to the shop back in Topeka,” Sam shrugged against the leather, settling back. Outside the open windows, the warmth of the dry air permeated everything it touched, the breeze from passing cars doing nothing to stifle the sun’s rays overhead. They would _bake_ if they didn't head into town soon. And Dean would rather have died than left her on the side of the road. Someone would probably crawl in the front seat and steal her the minute he left her there, broken engine or not.

“There wasn’t anything _wrong_ with her in Topeka,” Dean barked. “She was fine—.”

“She was _knocking_ , and you’ve been ignoring it.” Sam’s remark had him rolling his eyes. “If you would’ve _listened_ to me, we wouldn't be stuck here! Look, we’re a mile from town, why don’t we just walk—.”

“Not gonna happen.” In his frustration, he kicked his door open and rounded the front again, pointedly ignoring the behemoth of a black Denali pulling off the highway and parking a few feet to their rear. “’M not leaving her to get sold to some poor sap in an auto show.”

“You’re paranoid!” Sam shouted back at him above the sound of a door slamming shut.

Dean popped the latch. “It’s not paranoia if you know it’ll happen!” Not that he had ever _heard_ of something like that taking place, but his nightmares said different. The auction in Anaheim was coming up, wasn't it? More than enough reason for Baby to mysteriously go missing in the night. First vampires, now car thieves?

“I’m pretty sure no one’d steal _that_ piece of junk,” an unfamiliar voice sounded from behind the Impala, the suddenness of the noise having both the brother’s attentions jerking towards their new visitor. A short man, maybe in his mid twenties, stood with his hands on slack-clad hips, brown hair slicked back immaculately, only a strand of two intentionally out of place. Between his lips was a white-wrapped stick, the stranger rolling a lollipop on his tongue, striving to be the bane of Dean’s existence. “Not even if you got it fixed up—.”

“Hey, _no one_ asked for your opinion!” Dean growled. On the other side and after a car had passed on the highway, Sam exited the vehicle and, door closed, rested with his elbows on the roof. “What, you think your POS over there’s any better?”

“I get better gas mileage,” the stranger sneered and held out his hand. “Gabriel Novak. I assume you’re tourists?”

The urge to state his true profession nearly tripped his tongue; Sam completed his thought, “We’re here to investigate the murders up by the university.”

“Feds? In an Impala?” Gabriel asked, curious, head tilted in Sam’s direction. “Didn’t figure you guys would come all this way for a couple of kids. Cops say it’s a mountain lion, unless there’s something else you have in mind?”

 _Oh, you don’t even wanna know._ “Look, we’re just trying to _get_ there, alright? And the sooner we get this done with, the faster we can get away from— _whatever_ that is you think’s so great.”

“You flatter me,” Gabriel waved him off. “But I’m not here to _bother_ you two, no. I’m _assuming_ you haven’t called a tow service yet?” Sam told him they hadn’t. “There’s an auto shop down the road that can service whatever your poor hearts need. And, as it happens, my brother and I _attend_ said university, and we’re between roommates at the moment.” He looked Dean over, appraising. “You don't really look the Malibu type.”

Sam shook his head; Dean snorted. “Yeah, well, we’re not really the _any_ type. And I’m _not_ letting you send her _anywhere_. No one’s gonna touch Baby except—.”

“Dean,” Sam hissed, lips pursed and eyebrows raised. “For one, he’s offering us a _free_ place to stay, and two, you’re not the only one who knows how to work on a car—.”

“—She’s not _just_ a car, Sammy—.”

“I think you should listen to your brother, Dean-o,” Gabriel chimed in.

“ _Look_.” Dean pointed a finger between the two. “We’re not—.”

“ _Dean_! Pull your head out of your ass and let him do this, yeah?” Before Dean could huff a reply, Sam cut him off. “Look, it’s hot, we didn’t stop anywhere last night, and I’m pretty sure we _both_ need to crash. Deal?”

With visible exasperation, Dean agreed, patting the roof in apology. At least Gabriel had the sense enough to let the wrecker haul it off to his shop down the strip while they waited before driving them in the back of his SUV – brand new, too – to the university up the hill, through the mass of incoming tourists and locals heading to the beaches. Even at noon, that idea of jumping in the frigid waters of the Pacific was more than tempting.

Instead, they were driven up into the hills directly off the Pacific Coast Highway, through the short length of winding roads and onto one of the ritziest swaths of land he had ever had the misfortune to see. Pepperdine’s campus was _huge_ , swarming with students walking between each of the oddly-shaped Halls and other buildings, some headed in the directions of any of the sporting centers, others lounging under trees.

In lieu of stopping at any of the classroom buildings, Gabriel drove them up further, past the sand dunes and into another separate complex, presumably the dormitories. “Now, my brother’s in class right now, but you’re welcome to stay with him until your precious _Baby_ is fixed up good as new,” Gabriel told Dean as they stepped foot into one of the complexes, the halls lined with doors upon doors, majority of them closed. “His room is 401,” he tossed Dean a spare key, “and I’ll be taking your dear Sammy here to 311!”

To his shock, Sam didn't comment, only shooting him a vexed glare before being dragged towards the stairwell by his wrist, long legs nearly tripping over his own feet at the rate they climbed the stairs. Duffel in hand along with whatever he could salvage from within the Impala – he made it _clear_ for _no one_ at the shop to even remotely consider popping the trunk – he followed after, significantly slower in his movements. He hadn’t exactly been paying attention to how bone deep his exhaustion was, bleeding through his posture and seeping into the very air he breathed. He really should have listened to Sam when he said they should have stopped in San Francisco. Maybe next time he would consider it rather than driving through the night on nothing but gas station coffee and whatever pathetic excuse for energy drink he snagged off a shelf.

On the fourth floor, he found the mystery brother’s room at the end of the hall and turned the key in the lock, revealing the barely one-hundred-square-foot room in the daylight behind opened blinds. One bed was placed to either side of the wall, one unkempt, the other meticulously made, probably not touched in days. Papers and textbooks were scattered haphazardly on the desk by the door, a lone swing-arm lamp still lit; he flipped the switch off out of common courtesy and set his bag between the beds.

Explaining just _why_ he was in some stranger’s room was his first priority, in front of collapsing on that empty bed and sleeping the rest of the day away. They could walk up to the ranch at night; they did their best work then, anyway. For now, he settled for scribbling a note on an abandoned legal pad with a spare pen, placing it on the adjacent bed before promptly conking out on the other, one arm over his eyes, boots still laced on his feet.

He awoke to dimmed light and the sound of the shower running in the en-suite bathroom he failed to notice, too tired to take in much else other than where his face had been lodged for the past few hours. The last he checked, the clock in the Impala had read 11:21; according to his watch, it was nearing seven now, sun still high in the sky, somehow blazing even hotter. Rolling onto his side, he spotted that the note he left was gone, a change of clothes in its place. And at some point, a _blanket_ had been laid over him, softer than anything he had touched before; he could _live_ in that bed.

Or, he _could_ have, if someone wasn't _staring_ at him. An unfamiliar man stood in the doorway of the bathroom, bare save for the plain boxers that slung low on his waist and the towel draped over his shoulders, doing absolutely nothing to hide the feathers of what looked to be an expansive tattoo on his arms, a few draping the cut of sinful hipbones. Bright cobalt blue eyes watched him from beneath wet strands of black hair in a mixture of shock and horror, hands clutching the ends of his towel, wringing the fabric.

Thank _God_ he was under a blanket.

“I didn’t think you would be awake,” the stranger spoke, tossing his towel into the bathroom and, light shut off, closing the door. He went for the paint-stained jeans atop the pile and pulled them on, slim fingers buttoning the front. “Did Gabriel put you up to this?”

“…What?” The guy sounded somewhat in disbelief, leaning more towards annoyed. Had this happened _before_? “No, no, I’m just—.” He paused to sit up, rubbing the back of his neck with his eyes to the floor. _No staring, Winchester. Do. Not. Stare._ “My car broke down and it’s in the shop, and I’m here to investigate the—I’m Dean, by the way.” He held out his hand, ignoring the warmth that spread through him at the feel of the stranger’s skin against his.

“Castiel, Castiel Novak.” His handshake was firm yet surprisingly soft, still warm from the shower. “My _brother_ says you’re investigating the murders?”

Dean nodded, overcome with a shyness he hadn’t experienced in almost a decade. Just _why_ , though, was the question. It _certainly_ wasn't because of the half naked man standing at the edge of the bed. Their hands were still touching, he thought belatedly; he pulled away, stripping the blanket from around his waist and setting his feet on the floor. “Now, what makes you assume they’re murders, exactly?”

Castiel sat next to his neglected shirt, hands in his lap. “A friend of mine, she was the first to go missing.” Dean straightened his spine; maybe he wouldn't _have_ to interview students on campus, if this guy knew anything. “She left me a text last Sunday, and the next morning, she didn’t show up to our Psychology class.” Castiel shrugged, pressing his toe to the hardwood floor. “One of her friends went missing, so I assumed she left with her. Friday, a couple walking through the canyon found their bodies.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “What did the text say?”

Castiel padded over to the desk, picking up the flip phone and fiddling through the screens before he came to one particular window. In bold letters, Dean read the words:

From>Anna Milton  
            12:35AM 8/12/06  
            >> _Knew smth wrong w/Michael_

“Who’s Michael?”

Castiel fiddled with the braided bracelet on his wrist before seating himself again, crossing an ankle over his knee. “Michael Cain. He’s a post-graduate student here. Anna was… infatuated with him for a while, she would never tell me why, either.”

“Were you two close?” It wasn't his business to pry into some poor guy’s social life, but for the sake of the case, he had to. He already took a nap in one of his beds, anyway.

“She was… like a sister to me,” Castiel shrugged, his breath shaking as he exhaled. “I apologize. It’s been a trying week, for all of us.”

“No, I get that. I really do.” He sighed; he should really have left by now, apologized for sleeping in some poor stranger’s room without consent and went to find a hotel on the strip, somewhere he could sneak out of in the middle of the night if he had to. Not… _there_ , within arms reach of a man who had no physical right to be legal, all lithe muscle and seamless tan and – _stop, stop, stop_! “I, uh…” Should he really have gone on? “My… My dad, he died recently, too.” Castiel gave him a look of sympathy, wishing him condolences. “So…yeah.”

Castiel moved to pull on the long-sleeved shirt he set aside, the gray cotton doing nothing to quell the sudden spur of his libido. He shouldn't – he _really_ shouldn't. “You’re welcome to stay here,” Castiel cut in, shocking him from the gaze they had been inadvertently sharing the past few seconds. “It would be easier for you than having to look for a room this late in the day, I’m guessing. Since you don't have a vehicle.”

It _was_ the more logical option. He still had cash from their last hunt from a woman who was _more_ than insistent to fork over money for their services, claiming it was the least she could do for them saving her daughter. Enough for gas and food, sure, but not for lodgings, especially in the most expensive part of _California_. It was late, anyway; his stomach agreed, making its presence known in the silence of the room.

The part of him that wanted to apologize was silenced with the fleeting smile Castiel gave him. “Have you eaten?”

“Not since last night,” Dean grimaced, glancing down at his shoes. “Didn’t really plan on crashing for so long.”

“There’s a diner on campus we could visit, if you wanted.” Castiel leant over to pull out a pair of tennis shoes from under the bed, laces nonexistent. “It’s not the best food, but—.”

“Wait, _wait_.” Dean cocked an eyebrow, lips curled up at the edges. “You askin’ me out, Cas? ‘Cause I’m not—.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “You’ve been looking at me like you want to _eat_ me for the past ten minutes, Dean. This doesn't have to be what you don’t want it to.” He took back the phone from where Dean had set it aside, intentionally keeping eye contact. “Are you coming?”

The on-campus cafeteria had more options that he could have possibly handled, some too exotic for his tastes, others consisting of menu’s only Sam would eat from. They managed two burgers from one of the packed booths, everyone having collectively decided to congregate in one area at the same time – it was a miracle he made it out of there with his sanity intact. The sun was beginning to creep below the horizon by the time they returned to the dorms, cheap carryout bags in hand, Dean untying his laces the moment he sat on the bed again.

“Wonder what Sammy’s up to,” he said to himself once his shoes and socks were deposited at the edge of the bed, hissing at the sensation of being able to bend his toes again. Wearing boots for almost twenty-four straight hours wasn't exactly the smartest thing he had ever done. “Your brother’s not insane, is he?”

“I wouldn't put it past him,” Castiel said around a mouthful of cheeseburger. They were seated on the made bed across from one another, jean-clad knees barely brushing in their proximity. “Majority of the people he takes there don't leave exactly…unscathed, in a manner of speaking.”

Dean snorted – _poor Sammy_. “So, what’s up with the whole… mega university deal?”

“Pepperdine?” Dean nodded at him. “It’s a Christian college. My parents’ idea, naturally.”

“That not what you wanna do?”

Castiel shrugged. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to become an artist?”

“I’d say, show me what you’ve been working on.” He caught Castiel grinning behind his napkin. “So,” Dean bit into his dwindling dinner, talking around his food, “why’re you here, then? Why go through with it?”

“I need a degree,” Castiel supplied, sounding downtrodden. “Philosophy will probably get me farther than having a masters in art theory. My family thinks there’s no money in it. What did you want to do? I know becoming a federal official couldn't have been your first choice.”

Dean pursed his lips – he hadn’t put much thought into it, now that he remembered. He never really got the chance to fantasize about an alternate life outside of hunting; he barely made it through the public school system and getting his GED by the skin of his teeth, he knew his way around whatever weapon or part came within his grasp, he could rebuild cars from scratch – what could he have done if the situation had played out differently? If he had been _allowed_ to dream outside of his comfort zone, to actually go to college, to have a career that didn't include running from every police precinct in the country?

 _And_ , that didn't involve _lying_ to everyone he met. He could have told Castiel what he did for a living, yes – maybe it would scare him away, even. It was better not to get attached while he was ahead. Though, that line had apparently been crossed when he woke up in a stranger’s bed; granted it wasn't _his_ bed, but still. _Stop thinking, he’s staring at you again_. “Maybe a rock star,” he said; it didn't sound like half bad of an idea. “’N I’m good with cars, too.”

He half expected Castiel to scold him. After all, he was _apparently_ a federal agent – granted, a plain-clothed agent lounging on a college student’s bed eating cheeseburgers. Wouldn't either of those professions be a step down? Yet, Castiel smiled at him, actually _believing_ what he said. He just wished he could, as well. “They sound nice,” he spoke. “Much less like you’ve sold your soul to your profession.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” Dean balled up the now-empty wrapper and tossed it into the wastebasket across the room, Castiel doing the same, along with the grease-stained paper bag. “So… What d’you do on Friday nights?”

“Study, mostly.” Castiel motioned to the stack of textbooks on his desk. “Though, I’ve been invited to a party in one of the dorms. I don’t know if I’ll attend.”

A party didn't sound that bad. “C’mon, how bad can it be? What, watching a bunch of religious nutjobs trade off bible verses?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “ _Some_ of us have no religious affiliation. They’ve been known to cause noise complaints.”

Dean snorted. “I’ll be the judge of that. So, you wanna go? You can’t _tell_ me you stay here all day.” Castiel’s lack of an answer made Dean’s hands twitch. “What d’ya say?”

Castiel heaved a sigh, looking down at his bare feet on the bedspread, fingering the hem of his sweatpants. He could tell he was dodging, trying to find an excuse to back out. It was September – he didn't have any exams coming up, did he? All he had to do was decline, and Dean would leave him alone. “I—I guess, for a while.” He kept his head down. “It’s at midnight. I’ll—I could take you?”

“ _Hell_ yeah, you can.” Dean offered him a smile, watching the tension in Castiel’s posture bleed away.

-+-+-+-

He still had a few hours before midnight – for now, he was more occupied with stumbling through the desert hills with Sam at his back, his brother grumbling about scrub brush getting caught on his jeans and a set of glowing eyes that kept following them about five yards back. “He hit on me the entire time, dude. He wouldn't leave me _alone_! I swear he’s trying to get in my pants and—.”

Dean, by some miracle, managed to keep his laughter inaudible. “Sounds like you’re having fun.”

“Oh, loads of fun. _Loads_ , Dean.” Sam was probably scowling at him. “I tried calling you _four times_. What were you even _doing_?”

He pushed past a bush and tested a portion of the ground before moving to descend into the small canyon, several decrepit buildings highlighted by the stars above, the moon almost absent in the sky. The whole scenario was creepy, wandering into the middle of nowhere with their blades shoved in their belt loops, hoping that they weren’t ambushed while they had their backs turned. They had been in much worse situations, but at least _those_ times, they could see. Now, he could barely spot his hand in front of his face without the aid of his flashlight. “I was chattin’ it up with Gabe’s brother. _Apparently_ his friend was one of those who went missing, and she sent him a text saying someone named Michael Cain had something wrong with him.”

Sam snorted. “Michael Cain, really?”

“Hey, I can’t make this up.” He motioned for Sam to venture closer once they set foot on flat ground, in front of one of the larger buildings on the ranch. Inside held nothing spectacular, just a few scattered piles of shingles and refuse from seasons past. He shown his light to the corners, spotting nothing significant. A few needles and syringes, old Coke bottles, a moth-eaten blanket covering what looked to be a sleeping bag – nothing out of the ordinary. “So, what’re you thinking?”

Sam was halfway across the building, flashlight showing red stains on the deteriorated concrete flooring. “If it’s a nest, they’ve most likely moved on. Doesn’t look like they’ve left anything behind.” He kicked a rock, the clatter echoing across the four wood-paneled walls. “You think anyone’ll be around here in the morning?”

“Doubt it.” A sharp rustling outside had both of them turning towards the open door, a barely there shadow passing across the entryway, disappearing thereafter. “Think it’s that coyote you saw?”

“It’s bigger than a coyote.” They circled the perimeter of the building and the complex as a whole, Dean’s hand on the M1911 tucked in his waistband, Sam’s on a machete. _Nothing_ – they found no sign of anyone having stepped foot in the area; no footprints, no vague scents, blood trails, nothing. This wasn't the time for a collective hallucination; not that _any_ time was, but still. “So. Being watched is…”

“Not how I wanted to start the night,” Dean finished for him. “So! What say we come do this in the daylight? Y’know, when we can see five feet ahead of us?”

“What, do you have _plans_?” Dean’s pause was obviously unsettling. “Dude, you _do_. Who’d you pick up _now_? It hasn’t even been a day—!”

“Gabe’s brother, alright? We’re going to some party or whatever, I don't know. Can we just—not have this conversation _here_? I feel like we’re gonna get eaten if we stay out here.”

Sam laughed, the sound loud in the canyon. “What, ‘fraid you’re gonna get dragged off by a bear?”

“Well _now_ that you mention it, yeah!”

He let Sam lead the way back to campus, hand still on his gun in the instance that something _did_ try to attack from the bushes and drag either of them off to an unnecessary death. Once into the parking lot, Sam began murmuring something about smothering Dean in his sleep after the case was over and _why_ they couldn't have just walked down the strip to find a room – preferably, anything to get away from Gabriel. Sam hadn’t bothered to elaborate on just how _annoying_ he was; it must not have been _that_ bad.

Sam disappeared up the stairs to the fourth floor landing, leaving Dean to rejoin Castiel in his dorm, the man busying himself with tying—a _tie_. The guy was wearing a _suit_ , thin fingers trying – and failing – to work the knot around his throat. “Whoa, _whoa_. _That’s_ what you’re wearing?”

Castiel lifted an eyebrow. “I’m—not entirely sure of dress etiquette, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Dude.” He sat his flashlight on the desk and pulled the gun from his waistband, putting it out of sight in his bag, the memory of Castiel’s reaction to it still burning fresh in his mind. Near _panic_ – the poor guy hadn’t seen one in person, apparently. “We gotta get you some better digs. You’ve _gotta_ have something other than that?”

Castiel’s pathetic excuse for a closet was utterly uneventful – an array of slacks and off-colored dress shirts and ties were slung on hangers and the rack in the back, along with a scant selection of plain t-shirts and what looked to be a letterman jacket. _Jackpot._ “We don’t have much of a dress code here, but I’ve always felt better wearing suits.”

“I can _see_ that. You ever go anywhere not dressed like a stiff? Here,” Dean handed off a short-sleeved plain shirt and jeans, dusting off the black-sleeved jacket before unhooking it and tossing it on the bed. “Change. You’re not goin’ out looking like _that_.”

Castiel huffed, dropping his hands from the unfinished tie around his neck. “You just want me out of these clothes again, don’t you?”

Of _course_ he did – though, he wouldn't admit it to himself. Just because he was attractive didn't mean that he wanted into his pants at first sight. Entirely. _Get a hold of yourself, you’re not gay._ “I’m not… Cas, I’m not—.”

“I’m not judging you, Dean.” Castiel loosened his tie and tossed it to the bed, undoing the buttons of his shirt while Dean stood watching, jaw tight. “Quite the opposite, in fact. But if you were interested, I wouldn't say no.”

“So you—you _know_?” How could someone know more about him than he knew _himself_? Yes, he caught himself looking at men as opposed to women at bars in the recent months, but that didn't _mean_ anything. And here was Castiel, telling him it was _okay_ , that he wouldn't be _judged_ there. But what if anyone else found out – what if _Sammy_ did? How would he explain that? “…How?”

“I know.” He sat along the edge of his bed and mentioned for Dean to join him, patting the empty space between his thigh and the clothes he had picked out. He acquiesced, keeping a respectable distance, staring down at his hands. “You don’t have to say it if you’re not comfortable.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not.” He turned his eyes to the door, fingers fidgeting. “Look, I’m not here to talk about my… _whatever_ , I’m here on a case. And I’d appreciate it if we just… kept it like that, okay?”

Castiel shrugged. “If that’s what you want.” Apparently, that didn't stop him from pulling his shirt off and hanging it back in the closet, completely oblivious to Dean watching him, tattoos shifting with each individual movement. “You’re staring again, aren’t you?”

“Dude, it’s not like I _can’t_.” Especially when he decided to walk around the room shirtless. “They’re… That’s some _serious_ ink. Why’re you covering it?”

“…No one outside of Gabriel knows I have it.” He pulled the faded shirt over his head and turned to Dean, going for his zipper. Did he _have_ to do that there? He has a perfectly good bathroom. “And I’d prefer my parents not know, either. They’re involved in the everyday proceedings at the university.”

“And they still think you’re _innocent_ ,” Dean laughed. “Secrets safe with me.”

“As is yours. Oh, and, Dean?” Dean had barely a seconds notice before he felt the soft pads of Castiel’s fingers grace his cheek and saw the darkness of his hair crowd his vision, the first touch of lips leaving him bewildered and mildly turned on. Gentle, pressing light, never coaxing him further than he had to. Involuntarily he felt his eyes closing as those same fingers trailed to the nape of his neck, stroking there long enough to lull him into a sense of contentment, lips parting with a sigh.

Another peck, and Castiel pulled back, the black of his eyes overtaking stark blue for the briefest of seconds. “Did you like that?”

Dean nodded in what he hoped was an affirmation, swiping his tongue over the swell of his lip; the sweetest hint of honey lingered there, tingling to the touch. “I—Why did you do that?”

Castiel’s pause had him holding his breath. “You shouldn’t worry so much about what others think of you, Dean,” he said, pulling away to kick off his pants and grab his jeans from behind Dean’s back. “You look like you want to tell me something.”

He did – but not there. Not when they were about to leave and mingle with complete strangers. He had to keep up the guise of federal officer for as long as possible, he had to leave without getting attached, not to anyone. And especially not to _him_. “So’re we gonna go?”

-+-+-+-

Castiel was a lightweight, Dean found out. He hadn’t been lying when he said he had never attended a party before, and they could safely add never _drank_ , either. For the time they were there, cramped in one of the larger dorm rooms with at least three or more dozen other people, unrecognizable music a dull throb in his ears, Castiel clung either to his arm talking nonsense or to a black-haired woman he learnt was named Meg, who spent their conversation with her mouth on his ear saying _God_ knew what. Whatever it was left him red in the face and backing out as soon as someone else caught her attention.

Somewhere amongst the noise and the bodies pressed close enough to have him squirming, he found himself backed into a corner and out of sight of his pseudo-date, the pulse of the bass and cacophony of voices leaving him mildly on edge. He shouldn't have been there, even though he practically _begged_ Castiel to come with him, all under the guise of _getting the guy out more_. Now he was alone in a room full of half-dressed college students listening to some skeev drunkenly wax poetic in his ear, wondering if he should join in or ruminate on what he had gotten himself into. He wondered belatedly if Sam was there or still stuck with the creep that was Gabriel.

His answer slid through the oversized crowd, features pinched tight, obviously trying not to disturb any of the obscenities going on. “Dude, Gabe’s missing,” Sam said to his face, more of a shout than a whisper. “He left for ten minutes and he hasn’t come back—.”

He should have looked for Castiel and told him where he was going – he shouldn't have left him there to his own devices, running out into the pitch blackness for the second time that night, machete in both their hands, rising up and over the hill and back towards the ranch. A flame was alight in one of the broken-out windows, shadows moving through the shattered pane. Something was there, the presence that hadn’t bothered to show its face thirty minutes before.

Inside, a snarling man was hovering about with two others at his side, the body of a prone man stretched out on the concrete, another cowering in a corner, his attackers probably deciding what to do with him after they were done with the other. The one on the floor was still breathing; at least they wouldn't have to explain _that_ one to the cops.

They wasted no time in taking down the lackeys, the two going down without a fight, springing into action the second he and Sam crossed the threshold and promptly collapsing after twin slashes brought them to their knees. The more lucid of the near-victims shrieked – _Gabriel_ , he noted; he wouldn't let him live that one down. The ringleader of the group – Michael Cain, he assumed – was more resilient, going specifically after Dean and leaving Sam to debate whether to go after his brother or make sure the person on the ground was alive enough to make it.

The vampire had no immediate interest in neither Sam nor Gabriel, or the person over which the former was backing towards. Instead his eyes were fixed on Dean, quickly managing to tackle him to the concrete and dislodge the machete from his grip, sliding across the floor to a vacant corner. He could have taken him, busted his fangs out with a well aimed hit to the mouth, knocking him away long enough for Sam to take over and give the thing an early grave – the creature’s fascination with a shadow moving by the door, though, left him staring up at the ceiling while the thing launched off of him, seizing the darkened form of their new visitor, a dark-haired Junior by the name of – “Cas?!”

Instead of the mildly confused expression he was greeted with earlier in the day, he found Castiel wide eyed and panicked, a clawed hand gripping his throat from behind, the other bunched in the leather of his letterman jacket. “This what you’re looking for?” Michael snarled, Castiel hissing under the tightening hold.

Behind him, he could feel Sam creeping closer, ready to hand off his blade if Dean got the chance to strike. “You let him go,” Dean called out, taking a step forwards, the monster another back, dragging Castiel with him. “Let him—.”

“What’s in it for me?” Somewhere in the background, he could hear Gabriel protesting and the body on the group coughing as he awoke; Sam was saying something in his ear, sliding the handle of his machete into his hand. He didn't hear any of it. The fear he saw in Castiel’s eyes had his stomach in knots, pale lips muttering something indecipherable, something akin to pleading. “We both know one of us isn’t walking out of here alive, so which one’s it gonna be? You should smell this guy, he’s,” he paused to _sniff_ Castiel, practically purring with fangs bared, “delicious.”

Sam had to physically restrain Gabriel from charging towards the creature; Dean shouted above their racket for Castiel to duck – or _move_ , for that matter – before crossing the room. The vamp, he concluded, was more terrified of them than they were of it, judging by the way he bolted through the doorway, throwing Castiel to the side in his wake. Dean tailed close behind, hoping that he didn't trip over scrub brush or the surprise pits in the dirt; Michael didn't have that luxury, managing to fall into the second hole they passed. He didn't even get the chance to right himself, head rolling off into the desert night with the sickening swipe of Dean’s blade.

Back inside, he found Castiel in the arms of his brother, the shorter of the two making up for Castiel’s apparent lack of emotion with his own with loud proclamations that he ‘ _shouldn't have left the dorm_ ’ and ‘ _you’re lucky you’re not dead_ ’ and ‘ _why are you here anyway_?’ All questions that were answered by the gaze he was giving Dean, one of betrayal and confusion. The blood caked on his own face probably wasn't helping matters.

Getting rid of bodies was something he had become all too used to doing. If he had access to the Impala, it wouldn't have been as difficult as it was to torch them, given that their spare gas was somewhere in an auto shop in Malibu and his only set of matches were somewhere in his duffel. He owed Castiel an explanation – after they torched the bodies, he would set him down and tell him the truth, that he wasn't as insane as he looked, that he wasn't going to straight up _murder_ him in his sleep. That wasn't now; instead, he snagged his matchbook and set out to behind the dorms where Sam had snagged a hose and stray bucket used for _God_ knew what. At least he could siphon gas without swallowing half of it, now; hopefully the owner of the Yukon wouldn't notice the difference.

After that, their movements worked in sync; both brothers helped to carry the corpses and their heads to a dirt patch away from any flammable brush and thoroughly doused them, both dropping lit matches on the pile and vacating the area before anyone caught sight of smoke in the canyon.

Castiel was waiting in his room with his hands in his lap when he returned, foot bouncing anxiously on the floor, eyes turning away as soon as the door was closed. What was he supposed to say? “I think we both need to talk,” Dean started, hopefully on neutral ground. “Y’see—.”

“Shower, first. Please.” He looked towards the window. On the nightstand, the clock read 3:47. “I can’t stand to see blood on your face.”

In acceptance, he grabbed a clean set of clothes and set out for the fastest shower he had ever taken, just enough to get the corpse smell and bodily fluids off with whatever wash Castiel had in his pathetic excuse for a shower, running red and brown down the drain. He was still toweling his hair off, redressed and smelling faintly of oranges, when he reentered the room, Castiel still looking as sheepish as ever, even flinching as Dean sat beside him. “You’re not a Fed, are you?”

Dean shook his head. “…Would you believe me if I told you I was a hunter?”

“…I’m assuming you don’t hunt deer.” There was nothing humorous about his tone; still, Dean found himself smiling anyway, pitiful. “What was that, then? That grabbed me?”

“Vampire,” Dean replied. “He was probably trying to gather a following, from the looks of it. We didn’t expect them to show so soon, either. Or get you or Gabe or—who was the scrawny guy?”

“Aaron, he’s a freshman. He has a concussion, but he’ll be fine otherwise. You and your brother… saved him.” Castiel rubbed at the back of his neck, still refusing to look anywhere near him. “I guess I should thank you.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Conversations weren’t supposed to be that hard; earlier in the day, they had been better off for the short few hours they were actually in contact – now, they could barely even look each other in the eye. A side effect of the job, he figured. He didn't want to leave that sort of memory behind. “Why did you follow me?”

“…I went looking for you when your brother came in. He said something about Gabriel and—I was afraid it was happening again. I didn’t want… either of you to die.” He turned to Dean, just a little, never meeting his eyes. “Do you think he would have—.”

“I wouldn't’ve let him,” Dean affirmed. “Not to you, or to anyone else. And hey, in a way, you kinda _helped_ us.” He shouldn't have laughed; at least Castiel joined in, however halfhearted it was. “If you hadn’t run after me like you did, the Meg chick probably would’ve dragged you off to some closet.”

“How unfortunate for both of us,” Castiel chuckled. Dean patted his shoulder, shaking him a bit. “So, is that it?” He lifted his eyes, the last vestiges of fear slipping away, instead replaced by a sense of longing, almost pleading. “It’s a shame, I almost wish you hadn’t wrapped up your ‘case’ so soon.”

“It’s not—I mean…” The case was over, yes – but there was still the issue of his car. They would call him when it was done, right? Or did they have Gabriel’s number on file? He still had no idea where it even _was._ “I mean… We probably can’t leave for a few days, anyway. What, you think I’m just gonna up and run off on you?” He shook his head, nudging Castiel’s shoulder. “You haven’t even shown me around town.”

Castiel swayed a bit, hiding his smile behind pale lips. “It’s hardly anything to show, Dean. There’s the oce—.”

Dean hushed his words with a swift kiss, one hand fisted in the sheets of Castiel’s bed, the other cupping his neck, never urging him more than he had to despite his own insecurities. He didn't know what possessed him, what gave him the urge to coax Castiel onto his back, those plump lips opening against his own all too willingly, what had them slotting against one another as comfortably as possible, both sighing against each others necks as they broke apart.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Castiel was saying something in his ear, hot breath gusting against the shell; he was too busy stringing a line of kisses along his collar to care. The hand carding through his hair was doing nothing to push him away, either; the one on the small of his back, though, caught his attention. “Dean,” Castiel muttered through a whisper, lips tugging the lobe of his ear, soft.

If it weren’t for the fact he was being addressed, he would have been content to have Castiel continue his ministrations, instead mumbling something along the lines of, “what is it?”

“I thought you said you weren’t…”

Elbows on either side of Castiel’s head, Dean lowered his head to his chest, shuddering out a breath. _I’m not_ , he berated himself, _I’m not_. But that hadn’t stopped him from running his hands over the bare, tanned skin of Castiel’s arms, tracing over the thin fabric of his shirt, fingers teasing beneath the hem enough to feel his stomach twitch. “Just… I never get this chance, Cas, with anyone. Hell, maybe it’s the adrenaline, but I—I want this. Want _you_. Just…”

“You’re scared.” Against his better judgment, he nodded, unable to meet Castiel’s eyes. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable.”

“No, no, I’m just…” Dean laughed to himself, shaking his head. “I’m fuckin’ terrified, man. I saw that thing grab you and I was—I was willing to throw myself on the fire to get you outta there. It’s… never been like that before.”

Castiel stroked a hand over his cheek. “Not even with your brother?”

“Man, don’t mention my _brother_ when we’re in bed.” He kissed the smile off Castiel’s face, receiving a pleased sigh in response. “But yeah, no. I… I don’t normally do this. Get to actually _know_ people, y’know? Normally it’s just—.”

“You prefer to keep yourself distant. You don’t want to hurt anyone.” Dean nodded. “You didn’t hurt me, Dean. And I seriously doubt you could in the future, unless you plan on running off without bothering to say goodbye.” The sheer terror he saw on Castiel’s face had him skipping a breath. “You don’t, right?”

“No. Even if I _wanted_ to, I couldn't. No car, remember?” It wasn't much of a consolation, but at least Castiel appeared to understand. “Like it or not, I’m stuck with you for the next few days. So,” with an intentional roll of his hips, he watched Castiel’s eyes flutter closed, a short moan escaping those kiss-bitten lips, “what’re we gonna do?”

“You’re awfully pushy for someone who’s fighting himself.” Castiel tugged his face to his neck, speaking low against his ear, “I’d like if you would stop teasing and get on with it.”

“Oh, mister innocent is getting impatient?” Dean jeered, shifting to his knees and tugging Castiel up by his collar to sit. “You gonna do somethin’ ‘bout it?”

“I’d like for you,” Castiel kissed him, fisting his hands in Dean’s hair, “to shut,” another, harder, moving to straddle his waist, “up. You’re awfully loud.”

“Look at you, being all demanding. I like it.” He tugged at the hem of Castiel’s shirt, working to pull it over his head, discarding it on the opposite bed. He was even more spectacular to touch, all that exposed flesh within his grasp, writhing on his lap, lips intent to suck a mark beneath his ear. His mouth parted at the feel of Castiel’s hand cupping the growing bulge in his jeans, thumb teasing over the head. “ _Fuck_ —.”

“Get out of these clothes.”

He complied with much enthusiasm, lifting his arms so Castiel could slip his Henley over his head, afterwards shoving him back into the sheets with a hand to his chest. Getting the fly of his jeans undone – _why didn't I just grab the sweatpants_? – was more complicated than necessary, hands shaking with anticipation and mild panic, never quite able to catch the pull; Castiel pushed them to the side in his awareness, helping to get him up and out of his pants, tugging his briefs down with them and tossing them away. The thought that he was _vulnerable_ , laid out bare in the bed of a man he barely knew, flitted through his mind as he was kissed again, each one more demanding than the last, the notion quickly discarded as the words, “touch me, Dean,” graced his ears.

Castiel was pliant beneath his touch, huffing warm breaths with each brush of Dean’s fingers, practiced hands sliding the worn fabric of his pants down his hips and off, thumbs catching his boxers along the way. The warm insistence of Castiel’s arousal against his hip caught him off guard, unused to feeling a cock that wasn't his own against his skin, hips rutting into his own in languid motions. “Cas, how do you—.”

“Finger me open, there’s lube in—my drawer.”

He could do that – if only he could drag himself away from the temptation of his lips for more than two seconds at a time. Somehow he managed, reaching with one hand over into the shared desk between beds ands fumbling for the tube there, nearly clocking Castiel’s head with his elbow as he righted himself. “Sorry, uh, just, excited.”

“I can tell.” Castiel kissed his cheek, smoothing one hand over Dean’s erection and thumbing the head, laughing as he threw his head back into the pillows. “No one’s touched you like this before?”

“Not a _guy_ , at least,” he whined. “Fuck, if you’re gonna keep doin’ that—.”

“In time, Dean.” With Castiel’s guidance, he slicked his fingers with lube and slipped two into his cleft, simply rubbing there, over his rim, familiarizing himself with the newness of it all. He took his time, Castiel panting subdued moans into his neck whenever his finger slid over and in, enough to be teasing, never giving him the full satisfaction of having something inside him. “Come _on_ ,” he heard him plead, kissing wet along his collar. “You’re such a tease.”

“Sounds like you’re enjoying it,” Dean chided. Castiel practically whimpered when he slipped his finger in, _finally_ , a moan ripping from his own throat as their hips rubbed again, cocks sliding through the mess of precum there. “You’re so _hot_ , Cas—.”

“Another, _please_ ,” he pleaded, hips pushing back to take another digit in, Dean taking his time to stretch him, reveling in the flutter of muscles there and the moans he received in return. Castiel shuddered atop him as he stroked over a foreign bundle of nerves, nipping the skin of his throat in retaliation. “ _Again_ , Dean—.”

He complied, padding over that spot inside of him, more insistent now, watching the changes in Castiel’s expression with each pass. “What’s—What’m I doing?” he asked, feeling all the bit a novice.

Castiel huffed a laugh. “That’s my—prostate— _Dean_ ,” he managed between pants, gripping the sheets by his head tight, hips jerking in little movements. Never in his life could he have known someone to look that _blissful_ with such a small touch. Upon the insistence of a third finger, he had Castiel practically melting, cock leaking profusely, dripping down his flank. It shouldn't have been as hot as it was; just the _sight_ had him wanting to come all over himself, the feeling of a warm, hard body against his own so unfamiliar and inviting. He could get used to it. “I’ll—show you later if you— _want_ —.”

He chuckled to himself, kissing his ear. “You gonna come like this?” With his free hand, he cupped his ass and pulled him closer, Castiel crying out – hopefully the walls were soundproofed, or everyone within earshot was too lost in sleep to hear. “Gonna come on my fingers?”

“No—want you in me,” Castiel whined. “There’s condoms in the drawer, _hurry_.”

If it weren’t for the urgency of his own arousal, he would have kept it up, fingered him until he was beyond words, until he knew nothing but Dean’s name. Maybe later, when everything wasn't so new, when he didn't _feel_ so much. One handed, he reached into the open drawer while Castiel kissed him, several times distracting him from his intended search with the sheer softness of it, a contrast to earlier, the rush all but dissipated with each press.

Castiel took the foil packet when Dean finally handed it off, not trusting his hands to do anything productive; instead he settled for watching him tear it open with his teeth and roll the rubber on, struggling not to buck up into his hand at the first touch. “You’re needy,” Castiel chuckled. He moved back up to straddle his waist, reaching back to line himself up; Dean flexed his hips a bit, both shuddering when his cockhead pressed against his rim, the idea that he would be _inside_ soon leaving him impatient. “Are you ready?”

“That’s a stupid question, Cas,” Dean laughed, pressing a thumb to Castiel’s lip. “C’mon, you gonna make me wait all night?”

“You’re keeping me waiting now, I think it’s a fair trade.” With a kiss to the corner of his mouth, Castiel took the discarded lube bottle and slicked Dean’s fingers again, Dean coating his dick with it and pressing up and _in_ as Castiel pushed down, twin groans echoing in unison.

He didn't know exactly what he expected, but it wasn't _that_. Castiel was tight around him, impossibly warm and _wet_ , hips shifting in minute movements until he was fully seated, hips flush with his own. “You alright?” he asked, hands on Castiel’s waist, thumbs stroking small circles there while he panted into his neck. He needed to move, _needed_ the friction of it, the ever present need to take almost overriding his common sense; until he got the word, he would wait with his heart hammering in his chest. “C’mon, Cas, talk to me.”

“You feel _good_ , Dean,” Castiel moaned, lifting up onto his elbows on either side of Dean’s head. He lifted up a bit, Dean biting his lip at the feeling of him pushing back down, the first thrust, small as it was, leaving him winded. “You won’t hurt me, come on.”

How he managed to keep any semblance of self-control after that, he didn't know. They moved in a haphazard rhythm at first, Castiel riding him from above, neglected cock sliding against the mess on his stomach with each shift. He reveled in it, planting his feet in the bedspread and thrusting up, firm, watching Castiel’s eyes flutter with each pass. _Beautiful_ was a word that came to mind; the way his body writhed, lips parted with wordless pleas, hands scrabbling for purchase in the sheets – even his _smell_ was intoxicating, so unlike being with a woman yet so much better.

They kissed intermittently, eventually settling their rhythm into something they could work with; somewhere in the back of his head, he recognized he was unusually quiet, body and soul lost in the moment until he heard Castiel whispering to him, breathy and lost. “Touch me, Dean, _touch me_.”

Castiel positively _whined_ against his neck as he moved to fist his cock between their bodies, hips bucking as Dean picked up the pace. “Gonna come, Cas?” he cooed, catching Castiel’s gaze, stark blue eclipsed by black. “Gonna come on me? C’mon, _fuck_ , come—come—.”

“Gonna— _ahh, right there, there_ —.” He felt Castiel tense beneath his fingertips, mouth falling open against his neck, cock flexing, spilling hot in his grip – he did that. _He_ made Castiel come, rendered him speechless with a touch. “Keep going,” Castiel panted, fisting a hand in Dean’s hair, “ _fuck me_ , Dean.” And he did, setting a brutal pace that lasted another few thrusts, the need to just _come_ overcoming him, gripping Castiel’s hips for dear life, barely able to speak a word. He moaned through Castiel’s languid kiss as he rode through his orgasm, hips still aching to get deeper, so much _deeper_.

Castiel pulled off of him and rolled over as Dean rode down the last of the waves, arm over his eyes. “Holy _fuck_ , Cas,” he breathed, laughing. “Holy _fuck_ , that was—.”

“We should do that again.” He patted Dean’s stomach, smearing the mess collected there before moving to strip and tie off the condom and toss it in the trash can by the door. “You’re closer to the tissues, we need to clean up.”

“No thanks to _you_. God, I can’t feel my fuckin’ _hips_.” Still, he acquiesced, reaching over for the box in the drawer and pulling out more than necessary, handing a few off. They really _were_ a mess, Dean covered in spunk and precum, Castiel in sweat and whatever else. “Need another shower, don’t think I can move.”

“We can do that in the morning,” Castiel sighed against him. He pulled Dean to his chest, turning them both towards the wall and away from the light on the table, arms wrapped tight around his belly. The lamp was too far away for either of them to care. “Something tells me you’re not used to being the little spoon.”

“Not really used to this whole thing, I guess,” he mused. Still, he fell into the warmth Castiel gave him, closing his eyes. “Gonna cuddle me all night?”

“I was planning on it.” He heard Castiel yawn into his hairline, pulling him closer. “Goodnight, Dean.”

He hummed, settling. “G’night, Cas.”

-+-+-+-

The shop owner in Malibu called Gabriel two days later, alerting the brothers to the status of the Impala; they could pick her up at any time that day and head back out on the road whenever they wished. Dean didn't _want_ to leave, too enrapt in Castiel to care about anything else. Not the fact that he hadn’t seen his brother for more than a few hours each day, not that there was another hunt somewhere in the country with their names on it. He could have stayed there for the rest of his life, if Castiel didn't have class or he could have _afforded_ it. California was more expensive than he had anticipated; how did they stand it?

Sam wanted to get away from the university as fast as he could, citing something about Gabriel being too clingy for his own good and he was tired of smelling pot from the dorm next door. He had dealt with it for the weekend, why not another day? _Anything_ to keep him from having to leave. Whatever it took, he would do it. But it didn't fit into the grand scheme of things, he knew – he had to get back on the road. Finish what his father started, for better or worse.

“If you’re not willing to write,” Castiel told him in the parking lot Tuesday afternoon, Sam rifling through the trunk to make sure no one had stolen anything, “then I want you to take my number.”

Dean took the slip of paper he offered, the front a standard business card with a name, the name of the university, and a cellphone number scrawled across the front. Writing back and forth wouldn't work due to their living out of their car, but calling every once in a while would work fine. If they couldn't meet in person, then they could do the next best thing. “I just don’t want you to forget me.” Castiel looking down at his loafers.

Out of sight of Sam’s wandering eyes, Dean kissed his cheek, drawing him into a quick hug. “That ain’t me, Cas. I don’t forget.” He patted his arm, not even trying to hide his smile. “I’d never forget you.”

“I hope not.” Castiel placed a hand to his shoulder, squeezing there tight. “The next town you’re in, text me.”

“I will.” Dean kissed him just as Sam was closing the lid to the trunk, rounding the passenger side without so much as a glance. “And if anything happens, _anything_ comes for you—.”

“You’ll be the first person I call.” Castiel nodded to him, wrapping his arms around himself. “You… Be safe.”

With a solemn nod, Dean turned towards the Impala. “You too, Cas.”

He tried to push the memory of Castiel waving in the rearview out of his mind, he really did. Sam didn't say about it until they were closing in on Manhattan Beach, starting with the cursory, “so you and Castiel, you two seem to’ve gotten close.”

Dean shrugged. “It wasn’t anything, Sammy. It was—Just a fling. Nothin’ else.”

Sam wasn’t buying it. “Do you honestly believe that?”

 _Nope_. “…Not for a minute.”

**Author's Note:**

> 2014, otherwise known as the year I wrote everything about California and I blame my writing class. This took a month to write, between massive chats and just being unproductive, but I like it nonetheless. Written for the prompt I saw floating around tumblr, "during one of their cases, Dean meets college student Castiel, and they hit it off." My mom wanted me to apply at Pepperdine while we lived out there 'cause she wanted to live in Malibu or have an excuse to go down there more often. I swear if I ever make money, she's gonna run off to there first chance she gets.
> 
> Title is from the R.E.M. song of the same name.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/loversantiquity).


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